Folie a Deux
by GambitandStormGroup
Summary: Before Exiles, Gambit witnessed the death of his wife, Storm. Months later, he finds himself the obsession of a teenage Storm from an alternate reality. What started out as a game quickly spirals out of control, neither getting what they bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

Fic: Folie a Deux  
Authors: Bastet and Lady Macbeth  
Genre: angst/romance/dark  
Rating: M for sexual situations and language  
Inspired by Vladmir Nabokov's 'Lolita'

Summary: Before joining Exiles, Gambit witnessed the death of his wife, Storm. Months later, he finds himself the obsession of a teenage Storm from an alternate reality. What started out as cruel game quickly spirals out of control, neither party getting what they bargained for.

_Storm_

I am a goddess. I am mistress over the elements. I am Storm. These are not words I need to consciously think about, as I believe them. They are as stamped into my being as my mutant and magical abilities. They are me.

Having manipulated the weather since emerging into adolescence, ruled the entire continent of Africa and been worshipped by my subjects despite not yet reaching 16, one can imagine I am not used to being denied. Yet, all _he_ sees is Ororo, the child. The fledgling member of Weapon X. The thought adds venom in my veins- I was here first.

As we hop from reality to reality, setting the timelines back on track, I have proven myself more invaluable each time, yet all HE can do is criticize my methods. I get the job done, that should be acceptable as it always has been, before he joined our ranks.

The name of my problem? Gambit.

I study him as he consults the Tallus regarding our current reality. He is slightly taller than me at 6'1", significantly older though not quite three times my age, and auburn hair that falls just below his ears, some gray strands at his temples. He is dressed in black body armor, a tattered red bandana around his neck and an ancient dark brown leather duster that bears the scars of many rough encounters. Come to think of it, I do not think he has ever removed the worn artifact. He probably showers in it… if he did shower- he has this rich, heavy musk about him that I can only describe as cedar and clove.

The man always has a permanent 5 o'clock shadow and eyes of red irises on obsidian orbs, that burn bright when he is angry, which appears to be frequent when I am present. He is unpleasant in the least, his aura oozing contempt towards me, and it is probably why he exhibits the worry lines in his brow, although I have noticed tell tale laugh lines as well in his visage- he could not always have been so bitter.

Gambit is the leader of our group, taking orders from the Time Broker via the Tallus and passing them on to us. Make no mistake I follow him out of duty, nothing more. Despite being my overseer, it does not ease my distaste for the wretched man.

Of course, Gambit is not his real identity. He has never told me his first name, tearing himself away from the familiarity that could be developed from first names. Never a kind word leaves his mouth to acknowledge me, even in a job well done. He is Cajun and occasionally mixes heavy French with his words, usually swears directed my way.

Anger and spite have shored up within me towards this man, my self-control threatening to release my rage in a tidal wave; how _dare_ he address Ororo Munroe, Queen of Africa, like a mere human?

Gambit closes the Tallus and silently walks toward his room, barely casting a glance my way as I stand to ask him of what the Tallus had to say.

I watch through narrowed eyes, trying to will the poisonous rage within me into his body only to end up scorned by the closing of his door. Perhaps a lightning bolt would be more effective in the future…

Then, Spider and his big mouth opened my eyes.

A gravelly voice above my head breaks my concentration "Nice look of death you have going there, young lady."

"I loathe that man with every fiber of my being- Nothing of my contributions is ever satisfactory."

Spider laughed darkly and fell from the ceiling, turning deftly to crouch on his feet. "Are you in the business of satisfying our leader?"

"Hardly. Any words would be more acceptable than the cutting barbs that roll off his tongue. I have seen and done more than he could ever dream of in his miserable existence, where does he have the nerve giving me the cold shoulder like a disobedient child?"

More of that annoying dark laughter. "You know Gambit was married right?"

I arch a white eyebrow. "Was?"

"Oh yeah. Watched her die too, was not a pretty sight."

"You were there?" It is more a demand than it is question. I am intrigued but try not to sound too interested.

"No, but you were." He snickered cruelly. "Get it? He was married to Storm of his reality? I imagine she was less gangly or ill tempered."

"Yes, I 'get it'." I say with the disgust I am used to volleying his way, actually chagrinned to admit that I am taken surprise by this revelation. The wheels in my head begin to spin wildly.

As my mind wanders through a myriad of thoughts and possibilities, I am suddenly stricken with the idea if he is angry more with himself than me. My only crime has been to resemble a woman who was foolish enough to get herself killed. Perhaps... he has thought of me as he did his wife, even briefly. And why wouldn't he? I am a goddess in more ways than one: Kings waged wars for my hand in marriage; Gambit should be no exception.

The thought enchants me, the idea of testing this theory to place the strings on Gambit, transforming him into my puppet. Being a widower, I would still have to go about this with cunning.

Death of a marriage is never easy, yet death of a spouse doesn't kill the marriage, but rather places it in limbo. You never fell out of love, there is no hate to salve your heart or justify your position. You remain a hollow shell committed to a ghost.

Despite that, _he is just a man_. This will not be so difficult after all

Staring at the ash-stained door that separates us, I realize with imperious satisfaction I may have an upper hand to torture him as he has me these past months. I will show him what it means to treat Ororo Munroe like a common dog. When I am through, he will be on my leash.

_Gambit _

Again. As my eyes open to the light I realize once again I'm awakening to face an empty bed. I can't help but feel the exasperation building. I guess I grew so accustomed to this feeling that sometimes I forget the "why"…Maybe the reason I forget "why" is because I still don't believe it…I know, in a conscious level I know it…But sometimes my mind tricks me.

Sometimes, waking up, I automatically expect to be confronted with a pair of blue eyes and hear a dusky, voice still heavy of sleep, tired and satisfied from pleasure, greeting me good-morning. I automatically expect to have her arms wrapped around me, to smell the perfume of fragrant herbs I don't even know the name (since I was too lost in contemplation of that sweet, half-veiled smile of hers, when she told me), to feel as the generous curves of that warm body I know so well, mold themselves lazily to my own body, awakening it, making it alive, making me want her, making me overflow with this calming, comforting feeling that is to know I have her and that she has me… unconditionally.

And every time I wait in vain, the illusion of it taking a minute to vanish…one minute too long, a minute that feels like a century disguised in the seemingly innocuous guise of sixty seconds.

I sleep much less now. I don't have the time; neither do I have the will. If I sleep I may find myself lost in those same dreams that repeat themselves over and over again, and once I wake, once it's over…I couldn't be sure I wouldn't finally break…

So I became afraid to sleep, to rest… And forcing myself to stay awake throughout life, unable to avoid every and each painful day that follows a night, I keep myself busy…one reality after the other, one universe after the other, one life after the other, not only because I have to…But because I need too.

I'm afraid if I ever have a minute to think, to awake from this mindless movement, then, in those fateful sixty seconds, I'll see with the clarity that only a calm reflection can have, that she's not here anymore… So I keep going, trying to trick my mind, trying to avoid the awakening…just because I'm too afraid to wake up and find myself confronted with the fact that…

She's just…not here…


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Folie a Deux  
Chapter: 2

_Storm_

The next morning, I head out the back door to the ground surrounding our 'camp'. It is an old brick mansion, half demolished by fire, detracting intruders yet still standing strong enough to house us on this realities' mission. I step over a few charred bricks to exit the house; the back terrace is overrun with vines and weeds, my own private jungle. I stare up at the sky, judging what the weather is willing to accommodate, but mainly searching with my peripheral.

I am not out here for my health, though that could be assumed from what I am about to do. In the corner of my eye, I see _him_ where he has been the past 3 mornings when not ordering us around; standing on the balcony of his bedroom, looking at the sky, searching for things unseen.

I spot a nearby tree, the perfect accomplice. I position myself underneath it where I know Gambit can still see me, but it appears I made some effort to conceal myself under the foliage. Satisfied with my location, I pretend to peek around, feigning innocence, before I remove my violet uniform and hair band, hanging them on a branch of the gnarled tree and summon a private rain cloud to shower.

Humming to myself, I count down inwardly as I slowly build up a wind around the grounds without suspicion, occasionally glancing out of the corner of my eye to my uniform swaying in the wind. Now.

The wind snatches it from the hand of the giant oak and I shout in surprise, grabbing my headband off of the tree and chasing along after the purple sash, sprinting across the grass before finally taking flight and following it over to his perch. He picks it up off the stone surface of the balcony and stares at it dumbfounded.

I hover in the air briefly before landing softly, flashing an angelic smile and giggle. "May I have my clothes?"

Mechanically, he hands the gauzy sash over. "What are you doing running around naked?"

"I can't very well bathe in my clothing, can, I? As you can see, the wind kind of took over."

"Uh huh."

I am completely nude, dripping wet, pursuing his company and incredulously, he turns away from me to enter his private sanctuary.

I wring my hair out and follow. Still very damp, I casually flop on his bed and 'accidentally' lose my headband under his pillow. I am curious to see how long it takes for him to return it, if at all. "I was finished anyway".

He turns to order me away, only to be distracted by my current state. Lying on my stomach across his bed, legs bent at the knees, swinging my feet in the air. "Can you put some damn clothes on? Merde!"

I stare blankly, maintaining my innocence, and then manage 'embarrassment' on his behalf as I fumble with my garments, donning them looser than usual in my haste. "Sorry." I mumble.

I see him reaching for the handle of the door and hastily intervene, "Gambit…"

"What?" He pauses, tone curt. Nothing unfamiliar to his mouth.

"Spider told me something last night… that I want to ask you about." his eyes rest on me, accepting this so I continue. "He said you were married."

His posture rights up, suspicion in his face, defensive body language; of course I pursue. "And she was me."

"What are you getting at, fille?" His mouth twitches slightly, like he had been caught doing something forbidden.

"What was she like? I mean, did she live in Africa too? Was she a thief? Did you two have any children? Did you call her Storm too?"

The lines in his face almost relax as grief enters his voice, "Why do you want to know?"

"I am interested to know what I have the potential to be." The answer is given a little too deviously and he appears to have caught the double meaning as he turns the knob and opens the door, gesturing for my exit.

"It's none of your business."

I begin to leave but stop before him, staring up into his eyes. I realize he is almost 6 inches taller than me as I lift my gaze to meet his. "I am sorry if I offended you…" His glare informs me he is not buying my apology so I pull out my reserve effort to manipulate the forming strings, "I just… goddess…" Crocodile tears swell in, welling up enough to glaze my eyes but not fall. "When I heard that… you had a wife and who she was, I thought, perhaps you could tell me of her adventures, like a father tells stories to his daughter… But I guess… I will go now." I hang my head in mock disappointment, trudging from the room. The door slams closed behind me and I pause, hearing the thud of him collapsing against the panel. Is it possible he is crying? I cannot resist listening in to find out. Placing my ear against the surface, I hear him utter her name and grin wickedly.

_Gambit:_

"Stormy…"

The name leaves my lips in a sob I can't hold back. Warm tears burn into my eyes…the quiet crying I stubbornly deny myself every night. Five months…It doesn't seem real until I actually think of it…Five months…The memory of it is still so vivid…so real that at times I become almost delusional…

At times, how many times, Remy? Can you remember four, five, of those occasions? Or even more? Or no human heart could have survived more than three? But at times…I turn around in search for a voice, that seems so clear to my ears, calling my name, but isn't really anywhere but inside my head…At times I feel whenever a door opens behind me that she is going to just walk in, come to me, tell me everything is ok, that all the pain, all the sorrow was just a dream, that nothing is changed…

And at times, and those are the worst times, I can still feel as a macabre litany that never ceases to torture me… my hands slick with warm, alive blood, my tears blurring my vision, the overwhelming sense of powerlessness…and she's dying in my arms all over again. I can feel the breath of death, cool and sharp like a fine blade, leaving her lips as her life disappears with the swiftness of a cloud being blown away by wind…

I close my eyes, fighting away my phantoms the best I can…I push away the images, stepping back into reality…

These reveries have become much more common in the past few months. Ever since I met her. This careless, cruel enfant, who takes her kicks from role-playing as a queen. I shouldn't have any particular feeling for her. She's but a child, she's vain, rude, not particularly interesting…at least not for me…

But she looks like her. No, she doesn't, she is the same as her. Physically I say. Mentally, they're nothing alike. No, my Stormy was sweet, tender, strong, calm. My Stormy was a woman, not a child. My Stormy was like a summer breeze, fresh, gentle, the kind of breeze you welcome on a hot day…Ororo, this kid, she's a hurricane; might seem like a display of greatness and power, but the true is anyone with half a mind just wants to get away from her.

And yet, she looks like my Stormy. Maybe some kind of cruel god or goddess decided I deserved to be punished from some misdeed I ignore…is the only explanation for my stumbling in this warped version of her. But if I ever learned anything, is that you have to take whatever crap life throws at you, without complaining. If you fall, all you can do is get back to your feet and keep walking. Stormy´s death left me with a limp, but I kept walking. And now this girl shows up, trying to be the rock on my path, keeping from walking…And because of my limp, my wound that never closes, the rock seems harder to pass by.

Because every time I look at her, at this annoying brat, I see her, my wife, ma femme…And even when she's acting wickedly, even when she keeps talking, saying that bunch of non-sense she keeps babbling, even when she irritates me, I often see, in a movement of hands, in a leaning of her head…I see my love again…Those occasions last seconds, often lost within a moment of madness, a moment of reverie…

Maybe that's the reason she annoys me…I shouldn't really blame her for looking like she looks…But is hard to feel otherwise…Is hard to forgive the fact that now life has once again slapped me across the face, and she's is the evidence of it. The living breathing proof of my fate that I have to look at every day, denied the soothing feeling of time as it passes taking away the worst memories with it, leaving us with sweet nostalgia to lull us back to peace.

And like the torment of her mere existence isn't enough…Storm is now out to torture me further…I´m amazed at her wantonness…Prancing around naked, in a house full of men, parading under my nose, laying in my bed like some…I keep trying to put her in her proper place, but I'm just a man, damnit. I'd be crazy if the sight of a naked woman, any woman, in my bed didn't affect me, let alone a woman that I looks like an exact copy of the one I loved and desired more than anyone else in my life.

Damned girl… she should have some sense than that.

And more… she wants to know about Stormy. I wonder why the devil she cares; or if she cares at all. Mindless like she is, this is probably another stupid pastime, just something to get away from boredom…and it should be boring for someone used to have a whole continent for a toy to be stranded in this ruined building waiting for the next mission…

I take off the covers of my bed, still a little humid from where she was laying down, and toss it away with irritation; then I pile my pillows one atop of the other, hoping to relax a little, as we not often get the chance… I still sleep in a twin-sized bed, and still on the same side, I notice as I automatically pile the pillows on the left side. After doing that I notice something purple lying there. I pick it up just to realize its Storm's headband. I shake my head, trying to not get any angrier with her.

She's too young and too irresponsible to know that there are things that shouldn't be touched, things that are sacred. Nothing is sacred for her, she has no cares, nothing is important…Nothing matters except her fun…Ruling, dominating peoples and places ought to give somebody some maturity, but not her…

If only she knew the weight of her words… "Like a daughter…" A daughter, she said…I grimace…All of the sudden my mind floated back in one of my daydreams, one those that last a second, because they are too painful to last more than that without killing you…That day Stormy put fresh sunflowers on every room of our house, and waited for me at the porch with the brightest smile I ever saw in her face…The day she told me she was pregnant…It's almost funny, really…I wanted a daughter. A daughter to be daddy's little girl, a daughter that looked like her, just as beautiful. I know Stormy wanted a boy, she never told me, but I knew. Either way I would have been the happiest man alive. I was the happiest man alive already.

But we never got either wish though…had we, our child, our daughter or son would be fourteen now…Almost Storm's age…

"Gambit?" I hear Colossus voice coming from the other side of the door, and welcome it with some relief.

"What?"

" Just making sure you're still alive…are you planning on leading any training sessions or what?"

"Why don't you guys just take the rest of the godamn day off and leave me alone? I don't need to baby-sit you through training do I?" I answer grumpily, happy to have someone to lash out on. The big tin man is clever enough to know I'm having one of "those days", as my subordinates say behind my back and I can hear him walk away, leaving me alone with my demons.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Folie a Deux Chapter: 3 

_Storm_

The clock is approaching midnight and I have no idea where Vision, Colossus, Spider, and Ms. Marvel are. My instincts would tell me trying to find alcohol but as a machine, Vision cares little for anything and would see no need to follow. Oh well, the place is quiet for once. I'll take my solace where I can find it.

The day has been rough, on me mostly. Gambit managed to ignore me no more, no less than usual. Did he really forget me so easily?

Just this afternoon while taking Spider up on the offer of a spar, my vision became blinded by my hair and Spider caught the advantage, webbing me and slamming my body into the side of the mansion. I think he was trying to kill me. At this point, Gambit had not returned my headband which, in hindsight, was a poor choice to discard. Of course, Spider was unapologetic. A mass murderer serving 67 consecutive life sentences would have only counted it a bonus if my head had exploded on the brick surface. My mistake and I paid for it.

The bruises I can deal with, it is the webbing I continuously find still clinging to my skin that is revolting. _Dissolves after an hour my ass!_

I temporarily lose myself in the dated magazines we found around the house. Even if it is another realities media, it is insanely boring. As I flip the pages, I cannot help criticizing each face that graces the pages, _Eyebrows too thick… collarbone sticks out… uneven eyes… ratty hair…_ _seeing these pictures, women take this advice seriously?_ I will never understand the meaning of beauty in fashion. I have seen more beauty in the creatures considered nature's most hideous…

_Speaking of hideous… the nerve of him! Ugh. _My mind continues it's tirade like it were never interrupted.

After the fight, I refused to say anything of the defeat but Gambit knew why. Probably thought it served me right. I asked around sweetly if anyone had seen my headband, Gambit simply told me, his red eyes staring directly into mine with tempered coldness, "If you were not such a child, the rest of us would not have to look after your things."

_Did he know what I had done? _Heat rose into my cheeks, eyes narrowing, and as he turned his back to me again, I raised my hands to squeeze the life out of him, watching my hands swallow him from my vision. Even it were only a trick of perspective, it felt good. His efforts to alienate me only fuel my tenacity.

_I am not done with you yet._

And then there was the headband, lying on my pillow after I returned to my room. It's presence somehow insulting. I would've preferred he burned it than see the purple elastic cloth resting there, showing he did not care for it; for me.

I cannot believe yesterday's exchange had no effect on him. It baffles me, it is outright unfathomable. Is his skin as thick as that blasted leather coat of his? Or is it his wife is somehow superior?

Yeah, like that is possible. I laugh inwardly. I have my youth, I have my body and my wits. What is she? A Corpse. Expired. Erased. Worm food. No matter which way you cut it, it adds up to one thing: she is dead, dead, dead…

I hear the creak of a door upstairs and hear the familiar tread of his boots on the floor above and they are approaching the stairway. I toss the ugly magazine back on the table, and leap over the couch to lean against the wall just out of his vision on the stairs, let him know I was expecting him, but only when it is too late to turn around. I check my reflection in the unbroken glass panes of the window behind me, quite satisfied.

No matter what he says to wriggle away from me, I will not back down.

It's Showtime.

_Gambit_

I enter the rec room, running away from the oppression that is my own empty room. Just like I can't stay too long in one world, in one life…I can't stand being quiet in one room for too long. If I do, I might start thinking about things I shouldn't be thinking about…much to my annoyance I see that girl standing there…I ignore her in the best way I can. By now she is already aware of it…she can read my irritation all over my face…but I guess I do a very poor job at disguising it…

"I found my headband."

"I can see that."

"What is the matter with you, Gambit?" She asks me with that defiant smug of hers, addressing me by codename as I always tell her to, not out of compliance but clearly out of spite.

"What matter?" I don't have patience for this…I just don't have the tolerance for this anymore. Doesn't she ever get tired?

"It's her isn't it? Your wife, your Storm…that's the reason you keep giving me hell like this…What? I'm too much like her for you to stand being around me?" She had a malicious smile in her lips. I hate that smile of hers…It's so…out of place. It didn't match those features…those lips, the lips I knew smiled frankly, with joy, lightly…not like this. This smirk seems almost monstrous in those lips.

"You're nothing like her…"

She approaches. Slowly, like a lioness nearing the prey. That smile…this isn't my Stormy I tell myself with confidence…But, her voice…is almost as sweet under all this annoying poise, the smell that emanates from her…the warmth of it…Is so familiar…If I close my eyes for a moment, just stop thinking for one moment…

"How am I different, Gambit? Tell me…How am I different from your Storm?"

This is ridiculous, I tell myself when my back hits the wall. She is cornering me. Why can't I fight back? Just push her away, stupid Cajun…This is not her... she's not your Stormy.

"Tell me…what are you afraid of?" I can't stand the sound of that voice…that voice shouldn't be saying those things…that voice shouldn't be torturing me like this…Not that voice…

"SHUT UP! Just…shut up…" I choke, hopelessly.

She was about to protest, a renewed smirk of satisfaction forming on her lips. I can feel my blood pumping thought my veins, hot with hatred and desire… Hatred for this foolish girl, barely sixteen and yet so full of herself, who dared make a mockery of the memory of my wife, in that vain manner she has of disdaining everything, like nothing is worthy of her… Does she think everything is a damn game? …Just like submitting an entire continent to her childish rule. Everything is just so easy for her; so simple…do you think you know everything there is to know about life? You're nothing but a kid…What do you know about me? …What do you think you know about me?

This hatred hurts me almost physically…and yet, I want her…

No. I don't want her, my brain tells me in the midst of my fever…I want Stormy back…I wanted those lips over mine again, welcoming me with abandon, I want to taste that skin again, to feel it tremble under my lips, to hear my name whispered by that husky alto as my hands got a hold of her body, pulling it closer, as close as two people could be…

I pull her to my body, and turn around with energy, so she is the one against the wall. Her eyes widened in terror…It would have been easy for her to just kill me where I stood, a bolt of lightening would do it with no effort…

But she doesn't…

"Just keep…quiet… Don't speak, don't do anything…" I don't want to listen as that voice taunts me…I don't want to see my memories of those eyes, of those lips being desecrated by your cruel smirks…

"What…-w-what are you doing, Gambit?" What? Afraid now? But this is what you've been asking for…didn't you want to make me lose it? There, you did…

"No, not Gambit…Remy. Say it…Remy."

I must be crazy. Yeah…that's it. I'm crazy. But I need to hear it…one more time…just one more time…I need to hear her voice saying my name.

"Yes…Remy…" She submits, breathlessly. She's enjoying this… I see it in her eyes as she says my name…My name, the name only Stormy ever used…I allowed this…this girl, to call me by my name…like my Stormy did.

The shame of it hits me like a punch in the gut…

How, how can I be doing this? …How did I allow this to happen?

I release her and walk away, defeated.


	4. Chapter 4

_Storm_

I torment him, and I delight in it. Ever since he disregarded me as just a 'girl', too young to understand what I was doing, I set out to prove to him what a woman I am. And it pains him, this young nymphet tantalizing him, fueling his hunger for her embrace. _My_ embrace. _He is just a man, _I remind myself, _No matter his misgivings, he will crack_.

I deny to myself that just two nights ago, when I saw that igniting spark in his eyes, felt helpless under him and was forced to say his name for his enjoyment… that I loved it. The defiance of me, the control he exercised, that I despised so much, was swiftly becoming my addiction. I have even tried to deny the fact I have been running his name through my head incessantly, his voice repeating like a broken record in my conscious. And the delicious shame on his face before he again left me. I would die just to relive its exquisite aftertaste.

But, time marches on, he wears down, just yesterday I went so far as to sit in his lap and whisper his name in his ear, like it were an inside joke, only to hop away before he could dump me on the floor when Vision returned. But tonight I am to sink my talons into him even further, which is why I find myself invading his bedroom once more.

As I see this broken man sitting on the end of his bed, head resting heavy in his hands as he looks at a photo of his wife, I am not piteous. I am merciless, like a lioness on the hunt.

I want to shatter him and rebuild him to what I wish. I want him to feel dirty, feel depraved and deplorable; feel delightfully sinful at my touch.

"How long has it been since she died, Gambit?" I sit beside him, sinking into the mattress of that same bed I graced days earlier. I wonder if he still thinks about that day. I turn so my breast brushes against his arm. Even through that thick trench coat he notices and pulls away.

"5 months." He answers coldly. Obviously, he still believes it none of my business. He does not want to see me. In fact, I am sure he is darn right sick of me. But he cannot ignore me.

"5 months…" I muse, "Since you last held her in loving embrace, felt her caressing touch… heard your name released from her lips in breathless ecstasy... " I lean closer to him, one hand resting under his chin and gently directing him to view the intent in my eyes. "I can give you that."

Gambit stiffens and I watch his granite veneer crack with catlike intensity, watching my precious toy writhe in its final moments: the pained look in his demon eyes, the slight tremble in his hands, and I revel in it. "You can call me Stormy, if you want." I whisper in his ear, making sure my lips brush against him ever so softly.

He breaks.

In an instant I am on my back, thrust against the bed with his weight pressing against me, his knee separating my legs and resting against the inside of my thigh. But… it is not what I intended.

No fiery passion, no ignited lust. His lips do not crush against mine to appease unfathomable carnality, nor his body seeking to release desires that have been leashed for far too long. Instead, two strong hands close around my shoulders, pulling me to him violently, shaking me, his eyes glowing red, burning into me with a devilish intensity scant inches from my own, "Do not ever… EVER compare yourself to her!" he growled, "You're nothing but a fille. Quit pretending you're ma femme."

I am scared… I am excited? I am confused and this provokes me further. _I am in control!_ I match his malice, a glare cold as ice; he is not the only one who can shoot daggers with their eyes. "You are the only one pretending. Denying I am everything you ever had and more than you could want." With a forceful shove, the grip releases, the crushing grip of his fingers lingers strongly but I refuse to massage the feeling away before him; to admit I felt his rage. . I have him teetering on the edge… the edge of what? I do not know but I am deathly curious to find out.

Gambit rises, removing himself from me, and shakes his head. His hand wipes his mouth nervously, his breath uneven, "Get out, Storm."

He didn't say please.

"Are you sure--" I lick my top lip, one bronze hand playfully twisting a lock of white hair while the other rests on my breast to pull my already revealing indigo uniform dangerously close to surpass teasing.

"Oui." His voice lacks the strength of his previous convictions, elevating my glee and sealing his fate.

"Very well, Gambit. I will leave you be." For now. As I exit his room, an extra swagger in my hips and one final glance his way, I know I am truly content to leave for I have attained what I desired tonight… the torture in his face is unbearably clear and I savor it.

Soon, Gambit, you will crumble before me, aching for your goddess; for me.

_Gambit_

She has been awfully quiet lately. So quiet that sometimes I even forget she's around. And she's not the kind of person you just forget is around. I find it to be unsettling. Storm has never been one to act so discreetly…she has delusions of greatness, she's loud and surly, she's vulgar and has no sense of what is appropriate or correct… she's not quiet, has never been, and I guess never will be. Storm can't be happy unless she finds someone to taunt, unless she finds some tranquility to disrupt. Her being quiet has only one meaning: trouble. But I have more important business than to mind her, I have to plan…the Tallus has given us a new a new mission and I need to be prepared for it… The time is coming, and I can't afford to waste time with her little childish games. She has given me enough headaches in the past few weeks for me to be worrying about her now.

I have to forget she exists. Yeah, if only I do that I'll be fine.

Damn. So this is what had made me trip…I keep telling people to not leave their shit laying around…Storm's headband? Oh, great…Always in my godamn way…I pick it up and open the door, tossing the piece of cloth somewhere, quickly, before I can get the chance to smell the remaining scent of her venomous fragrance that I know will once again push me over the edge.

I freeze on my doorstep when I see her sitting in my bed. She looks comfortable like this is her own room. I'm ready to tell her off when I realize what she has in her hands…My wedding picture. The one I always keep besides my bed, or everywhere I sleep…the only thing I took with me from my reality. For a moment I'm torn between snatching it from her and loosing myself in contemplation of her…

"What do you think you're doing?"

She turns around casually…like she has been waiting for me…I guess she has…No, I know she has…the little devil.

"I wanted to see her…Do you mind?" She asks like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like nothing was wrong with all of this, this whole…I can't even bring myself to name what is going on…I'm just confused like this…

"Get out." I tell her, not even looking at her in the eyes.

"No."

"What! I'm telling you to leave, girl. I don't have any more patience for your shit, ok? Just go!"

"I said: no. Not this time…Remy."

Damn her…I slam the door, a futile manner to release my frustration, and walk over to her. Storm doesn't even blink, which only upsets me further…I get a hold of her arm, not bothering that this much force might actually snap it, and pull her out of the bed:

"I´M NOT PLAYING GAMES HERE. OK! I HAD IT WITH YOU!"

I'm ready to slap that arrogance from her face, teach her the lesson she very well deserves and has been postponed for too long. My hand raises … but stops its descent in mid air.

I can't do this.

"What are you going to do, now? … Beat me? Go ahead; do it. Beat me." She challenges me calmly, knowing of my weakness, knowing I would never hurt that face.

I release her.

She didn't fight me, yell, or call me names, like I imagined she would. She just stands there, looking at me dead in the eye. Now she has the upper hand and she knows it. Her warm, uneven breath is caressing my lips, as she lets her body linger next to mine, her hands travel up my chest, my shoulders, under my trench coat push it away from my body… I shut my eyes, incapable of walking away as she undoes my shirt. I want to open my eyes, to come back to my senses…I can't. It has been so long, so long since those hands last touched me…

Don't touch me; I'll die if you touch me…

The sensations become too much for me to bear…Smell, sound, touch…is all the same…those sensations I've been craving for months…since the last time she was mine. My body ceases to respond to my mind, taking a life of it's own, responding to all of those familiar feelings, coming back to life once again, giving in on desire one more time; the kind of desperate desire only one person could ever provoke on me…

I'm no longer capable of rational thought.

My conscience yells in desperation against the profanity I'm about to commit. I shut it down. I don't want to listen to my reason, I don't want to think. I just want to have her, one more time. I'll regret this as soon as it's over, I know, but I need it, my heart needs it, my body needs it, my soul, even if it comes out of it shattered, needs this.

I need her…I want her.

My lips meet hers with hunger, as I push her uniform past her shoulders, down her hips, letting it slide as her nude body molds against my still dressed frame, shamelessly. My hands travel up and down her, feeling her breasts, her hips, her back, my fingers fist a handful of white locks… slowly, surely, like an army marching in familiar territory.

And in fact I know each of those curves…I remember them, each and every one…I had traveled through those hills and valleys for almost two decades, ever since Stormy first gave herself to me, when we were both barely fifteen, and unsure of what we were doing… And that fifteen-year-old who discovered love in my arms, the eighteen year old who married me, the woman who carried my child, and, with me, grieved that child, lost even before existing, the woman who lived the better part of her life besides me, loving me, being loved by me, to whom I gave myself over and over again throughout the years, now somehow was back to me…

And that was all I knew…all I cared about…

Before realizing it I have her in my arms, her legs locked around my waist as I take her to my bed. I rise to my knees and look down to see her. Flustered, breathless, her lips glistening, reddening from my brutal kiss. I toss away my shirt as she eagerly undoes my pants. I catch her hands before she succeeds:

"No." I say, unable to form words with more than one syllable.

She lies back once again, submitting to my control, making herself comfortable, nestling in my bed like a kitten. I kiss her once again, savoring the taste of her lips with ease, slowly. I want to take in every minute of this, without rush…I shudder as my skin finally meets hers, the barrier of clothes, of shame transposed with horrible efficiency. But any thought of shame, of correctness is out the window now.

All I want is to take everything from her, all she has to offer me I'll take, with hunger…There's isn't a place in her body my fingers don't explore, every inch of bare skin, every little secret unveiled, not a place I don't taste, not a moan I don't catch…I feel like I haven't felt in months, all of my fervent dreams and memories becoming suddenly alive, flesh, blood, skin, voice, smell.

I have her again.

I devour her, I pleasure her …I hear her saying my name in the midst of her ecstasy… She's mine again; alive, trembling…mine…

My Stormy…

And once it is over…I hold her to me…This ghost turned flesh…I hold her close, almost afraid…I feel something shattering inside me, I almost can hear it. I hold her close as the pieces of my soul fall apart, and once the clatter is over …I rest…


	5. Chapter 5

_Storm:_

That first time, he was incredibly gentle. Despite the heat boiling below the surface and the fevered desire he first displayed, Remy handled me with kid gloves; almost afraid he would break me. Several times I hissed inwardly from unexpected pain and he would ease but I would insist he continue, afraid I might lose my grip on him if he were allowed to truly remember what he was doing. I asked for this, there was no way I would refuse it now.

Although a novice, I quickly learned that it did not take much effort on my part to keep him hypnotized, all I needed was to respond to his strokes, and look like her. Remy traveled my body with his hands and lips, finding ways to make me ache and tremble that I never imagined possible, pain melting into pleasure, a sweet mixture that left me to stifle my cries- which was unbearably difficult and resulted in a bruise the perfect shape of my bite on the back of my hand the following morning.

He knew my every weakness, playing me with the deftness of an artist and fine tuned instrument, touching me just so to produce the proper effect. If Remy felt any remorse through the night, it never showed. My hands intertwined with his brown hair as his head rested between my thighs, my eyes falling upon the picture of his wife._ Are you watching all of this?_ I ask her spitefully in my head. _Eat your cold, dead heart out._ And then I pulled him up to me savagely, eagerly wanting to ravage him before the totem of his former goddess with irreproachable blasphemy

After all was said and done and we lay their in the dark, pressed against each other in the twin sized bed, neither saying a word; him not wanting to lose his fantasy and I not wanting to be cast out from the warmth of his embrace. I never imagined I would enjoy this for more than the satisfaction of crushing his spirit but something peculiar has awakened within me.

Almost immediately afterwards, I sensed a distance in him. Sure, he held me tight against him, almost clinging until I felt him slip off into slumber but at the same time, his mind was with someone else.

And that will not do.

To keep myself on track, I ask him the question burning within me, even if he is asleep, I have to get it out for my sake. I brush away locks of hair from his ear and whisper, "Was it everything you imagined?" In my mind, I know it was. It had to be.

I stare at her picture on the bedside table, loathing the fantastically blissful smile on her full lips and the fact that she is in the arms of the man I am next to. I may not be her, but I know in my own right we are incomparable. _And I have less mileage between my legs,_ I think haughtily before placing the picture of my rival face down.

In order for me to have full control over Remy, he would need to disregard his old views of her. Thinking of her invites the acidic taste of sour wine to my palate. And at the same time, it is intriguing because she is a form of me. I am competing with myself with tenacity no short of all out war.

_Stay focused!_ I pull myself together once more, deciding how to proceed, refusing to lend myself to the moment of enjoyment I may have had before stubbornly pursuing my original motives.

To start, now that he is asleep, I leave silently and head to my own room. I steal a glance at his sleeping form, noting his visage is finally relaxed. Even if Remy is old enough to be my father, he is beautiful. _Stay on track, Ororo._ I shake my head to clear my thoughts once more. He is not beautiful. And he is not Remy. His name is Gambit and Gambit is a loathsome, despicable beast that must be treated as such. I pull my headband off of the wooden floor and leave it beside him in my place.

I still cannot help stealing a kiss from his lips before fleeing, nor pausing a moment to reflect on his still, naked form before I quell my fascination with him.

I fly out his balcony window to enter my attic room through a hole in the roof and rest on my plain mattress on the floor, staring at the stars. In the morrow, nothing will change from me to him. I have my heart set on it. If he even dares make reference from tonight, I will ignore it. What more delightful way than to make him feel it was all in his head or even that he had taken advantage and I did not wish to be with him? Besides, there is always tomorrow night to make him beg.

With heavy lids and tired limbs, I stretch and yawn and in the blink of an eye, morning's sunlight filters in to wake me up.

_Gambit:_

My eyes open to the sunlight…Like every morning, my bed is empty…I breath in realizing I have a headache, and turn away from the offending light…As I turn however, I see it…the headband I tossed last night…there in the pillow next to mine…mocking me…then the enormity of it all finally dawns on me…

What have I done? God…what have I done?

I feel like an electrical shock hits my body; without thinking I practically jump out of my bed, like it has been invaded by a thousand snakes. I stand in the middle of my room, lost, naked, a thin layer of sweat still covering my skin…my eyes glaze over looking at the disarrayed pillows and sheets, the physical proof of my wrongful deed. Her headband is laying there; her smell is still all over me, the taste of her body burning in my mouth like sour vinegar, the evidences of what went on last night are all over me, burning into my flesh like hot irons, accusing me.

What have I done?

At my nightstand I see our wedding picture turned down and rage builds within me…how could I allow this to happen? How could I allow this profanity to happen? How could I let that demon do this me?

You're weak, Gambit…The voice of my conscience I had forcibly shut in the night before laughs at me with cruelty I deserve…You're weak, a weak little man…I crumble as my inner voice keeps taunting me, as my mind replays the events of the night and my body once again betrayals me, becoming aroused at the memory of my sin…

You're weak, Gambit…

I want to put the picture back in its rightful place, but my hand fails, under the weight of my guilt…I betrayed her, the memory of everything we had together …I betrayed myself, tossing away my sanity to chase after ghosts, helping Storm make a pantomime out of my love.

I take the sheets away from the bed, ripping them to shreds…the pillows, covers is all tossed around in disarray. I rush into the bathroom, thankful that this old wreckage still has a supply of water, and shower, hoping to clean the evidences of my betrayal like a cheating husband after leaving the arms of his mistress…and that's exactly what I am, nothing less. As the freezing cold water hits my body like thousands of shards of ice, I feel as hot tears of shame wash my face…I cry…like I never cried before…I didn't cry like this when she died…But then again it wasn't me that killed her then…like I did now….

"I'm so sorry, Stormy…my love…I'm sorry…"


	6. Chapter 6

_Storm:_

Goddess, I ache. I had no idea I could feel soreness like this inside and out. My calves, my legs, my hips… well, everywhere below my waist feels like it has been pulled through a taffy machine…I don't even recall exerting myself at all last night. I remained in bed for several minutes, pondering my current state, before I could force myself to walk. Is this what the aftermath of Remy is or is this normal? Peculiarly, it is not a disturbing ache but rather satisfying, when I reflect…

_I need to stop that train of thought. _

Ms. Marvel, the only other female of Weapon X and an abrasive one at that, was the first to give me an awkward look when I emerged to face the day. The others seemingly normal, or as normal as a sociopath, a psychopath and an anti-social Russian can be. Gambit is nowhere to be seen. She watches me intently when I bury my nose in the ugly magazine once more, as if she knows my dirty secret and her gaze could pull the information free. I ignore her until finally, she unleashes her curiosity with incredible nonchalance.

One gloved hand pushes the magazine below my gaze, revealing a half cocked smile on her face. "Find a cure for your boredom waiting on our mission?"

"I… guess?" I remain polite, allowing her to produce her own questions so I can field them ambiguously. Not only regarding my age, but being the resident foreigner as well, feigning a language barrier can be quite beneficial.

She rolls her eyes. "So, how was he?" She ran a hand through her shoulder length blond hair.

"How was who?" I ask, still pleading ignorance. Oh, this is going to be good.

A haughty laugh hits my ears, grating me. "Gambit. My room's just down the hall, you know."

My eyes widen, and I gasp, "I thought that was you…." The smirk melts off her face and I lap it up.

"You are kidding, right?"

"No. Why did you think I was with him? He's so old!" I wrinkle my nose in disgust, half wishing he were there to hear me say it.

Her face is scrunched in confusion as she sizes up our other teammates, Vision, Colossus and Spider who remain blissfully oblivious to our conversation's insinuation. I do not contribute to ask her thoughts, as I very well know them, but I have no intent to reveal my position.

"No…" she says disbelieving, tearing her blue eyes away to question me again. "That's not possible… is it?"

"Is what possible? You are speaking in riddles, Carol…"

"Nothing… Sometimes I forget how young you really are."

_I am young but not stupid, you ungodly cow._ The venomous thought never leaves my mind as I plaster on an agreeing smile, like she has endeared a compliment to me. "That's alright, I do too."

_Gambit_

I step out to see my teammates looking worried…No, not worried, this would be too much…They look puzzled. I've been locked at my room the entire morning, which is something I never do. I ignore them to the best of my abilities, my head is killing me, and my back feels like a thousand tons of lead had just been strapped to it.

She's there. And she ignores me, keeps talking to Ms. Marvel like nothing happened…It almost seems as things are normal…For a moment, if I try hard enough, I can actually believe nothing happened… I walk through the room and leave, craving for some fresh air to clear my mind…I run away…Yeah, that would be more accurate…I run away…

I know they can't tell, but this is the thing about guilt…I know, and she knows… that's more than enough to haunt me…to give me the impression that the world knows, like is written on my face, tattooed on my skin, like my mere thoughts are so loud people can actually hear them outside my head…

So I run away…

Outside the blue sky above almost makes me believe everything is ok…But it isn't, it will never be. The headband I hid out of childish fear of being discovered is burning on the inside pocket of my trench coat.

I walk away from the house. In my way, various others houses that once formed a peaceful suburbia, before this reality was devastated by war and its inhabitants almost entirely exterminated, stand in ruins. I walk, trying to entertain my mind, imagining the lives of those who once lived here, who loved, raised families, died, within these walls…I imagine story after story after story, with vivid details, with sounds and colors…I imagine and walk, I wander away, almost forgetting who I am…

Before I realize it, another day is coming to its end, and I start to make my way back, with my mind still absent from my body. Alone and numb, I almost feel better…

Almost…

I come back to the house unnoticed, like a shadow. I head to her room. Once again I try to clear my mind, readying myself for what I have to do. I can't postpone it anymore; I can't pretend it never happened, I can't just move on like everything is all right.

"Remy."

I take the headband from my pocket and toss it at her feet. I have to make it quick; before she gets a chance to pull me back in.

"Here, that's yours…"

"Oh, that" She smiles "I've been looking all over for that"

She puts it back on her head, taking a long while to fix it in place. I watch every one of her movements, enjoying the natural sensuality of each one of them with private delight, I wouldn't dare to show her. Just do it, Remy…end this while you have the time…while there's still some spine left in you.

She looks back up and lies back, tapping the place besides her on the mattress. I wonder if she's really that devious…or just too innocent to have any sense in her head…

"Are you coming or what?" she asks shamelessly when I stood still, not answering to her call.

"What happened last night…Is not happening again, you hear me?" I tell her absently; suddenly realizing I can't even fool myself with this.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play, dumb, you know…it shouldn't have happened anyway."

"Oh, so that's it? That's it? What do you think I am? A common whore?" She bolts up to her knees, her voice rising. "You think you can just fuck me and leave it at that? Like it was nothing? What, you got your kicks out of pretending I was your beloved wife and then you ditch me? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO USE ME LIKE THAT!

"Stop yelling." I tell her, too weary to discuss.

"'Stop yelling!' How dare you?"

She jumps out of the mattress and gives me a soundful slap across the face. I take it. I deserve it. She's right. I used her. I used her to have my wife back for a brief moment, with no regard to the consequences, giving in to my lust like an adolescent. And for this brief moment of madness I must pay.

Storm looks at me through dilated pupils and I once again feel my resolve fail, my strength leaving me at the sight of those blue eyes beginning to tear of humiliation and rage.

She's but a child. A child that knows nothing about life. She might think she does, but she doesn't. But now, thanks to me, she will know about depravity, shame, and pain. She doesn't realize it yet, but she will…soon. My heart breaks inside my chest as I realize what I'm about to do, a crime worst than what I committed last night.

I have to prevent it. For the sake of us both.

"Storm…"

"I'm not her…I know. But did it ever cross your mind that I have feelings too? Did it ever cross your mind that I might…I might be falling for you? Or you just think I let the first man that crosses my path have his way with me?"

"You know nothing about love, enfant. Not yet."

"Then teach me…"

"Stop that," I tell her in a stern fatherly way that feels wrong on way too many levels…She doesn't answer me. Instead she leans into me, her face resting against my shoulder. My muscles tense as I feel her hot kisses on my neck. I try to push her away but I can't muster the energy.

She extends on her tip-toes, her lips meet with mine and I know I'm lost.

We're both lost.

And, after leaping once more into the abyss I sought so desperately to escape, as she lies besides me, embracing me with the familiarity of a long-time lover, as her head rests on my chest…as she falls asleep into my arms...

I smile…Yeah, Remy, you are doomed.

You are just doomed.


	7. Chapter 7

_Storm_

That morning, he walked past me, without breaking stride. I could tell in the reflection of Ms. Marvel's vinyl glove resting in her hair that he did not look at me, and I knew I had to prepare for his regret. By the time evening fell and he came to me in my bedroom, trying to cut himself free, I was ready. I cried, I begged, I lashed out and he succumbed with some effort, though the fact he accommodated me only added to the fact he was weaker. Falling asleep in his arms that night, I was victorious, only to discover the following morning he was a different man. Rome wasn't built in a day and it appeared Remy would not fall in one night.

And so began the pattern.

I would continue to pursue him behind the backs of our teammates, and he would continue to fight me. He didn't always win. But always, _always_ there are the godforsaken days when he falls back to old habits, unleashing his distaste for me or disappearing for hours on end. I do nothing to stop it- I feel as if I have some familiarity with myself anymore when I hate him back. I love to hate him, or so I convince myself. Remy my reluctant lover, Gambit my enemy.

His resolve is eroding my own.

The game is beginning to get to me and I find myself questioning if I am chasing after him for his approval… not to break him but to please him. Every time that thought arrives, I dismiss it. I have to. _I know what I am doing; I am the one in control._

It has been 4 days since we shared a bed and it is killing me.

The rest of the day is strenuously slow. With Gambit gone once again, having disappeared somewhere outside the mansion and with the Tallus having remained silent, we remain apprehensive while waiting on it to give us word so we can move on to the next reality.

It has been 12 hours since he left. What the hell can he do in 12 hours that does not involve me? Because I am finding it damned difficult to focus on anything other than him.

At nightfall, I find myself lying in bed, curled up against myself. I wrap my arms around my ribcage in a hug, trying to mimic his warmth but it is not the same. My arms are twigs compared to his and I know it is not him.

I feel hollow.

It is past 10 o' clock and I think it is time for me to speed up his return. My vision alters to show me the patterns of the atmosphere around me. I pick out the necessary pieces, nudging them together in the proper spots and the flash of lightning, a loud crash of thunder, followed by pouring rain signals the fruits of my labor.

Not even ten minutes later, I hear my door close.

A slight smile graces my lips. I know who it is as I hear water dripping. _Welcome home._

"What do you want, Carol?" I murmur, as if roused from sleep.

He knows I am not asleep and he knows the thunderstorm was no coincidence but he does not say as much. He has me figured out, has for a long time, but I convince myself otherwise, to maintain my game, like he lets me. That is all this is. He is my toy to do with as I please, to use for my fun, and I want to play.

_Gambit _

I reenter our quarters, escaping from the rain. There were days in my life I enjoyed the rain. I enjoyed walking under the rain without an umbrella and let it fall on my face washing away the troubles and concerns of a busy day. But that was back then. Now, if anything, the rain troubles me. Maybe because once the rain reminded me of Stormy; but now it reminds me of Storm too…I really have a problem dealing with that…I don't want those memories of my wife to superimpose themselves over what I'm living with Ororo.

Yes…What I have with Ororo…I can't kid myself anymore…

I tried to fight it…In the worst days I hated her with every fiber of my being…There were the days when I actually felt capable of killing her…But eventually I gave in. I sought comfort, I sought the relieving of memories, I sought fantasies…once I got what I wanted I'd feel guilty…

I'd feel guilty for my weakness, for disrespecting Stormy´s memory, for using a young girl. But the guilt was never enough to keep me from doing it. The truth is, even knowing how wrong it all was…I found pleasure in it. At first pleasure from my memories, then physical pleasure, then…something else.

I couldn't quite define what it was, but all of the sudden the differences between Ororo and Stormy ceased to bother me. I'd still feel troubled by a similar way of moving, by the alikeness of the voices, by her physical appearance…But the differences started to be less and less offensive to me…

I guess, they begun to intrigue me. Like their way of laughing. Their way of talking, of moving…it was all so different, and, while at first it felt wrong to see somebody so alike my wife acting so differently, I became almost…used to it.

That made me panic…I was terrified that maybe I was forgetting Stormy, replacing her with somebody else. But eventually I realized that my feelings for her were still the same, if not stronger, fueled by my sense of guilt, and now, somehow, were living side by side with new ones…for Ororo.

Sometimes I wonder if what I feel for Ororo is just the shadow of my affection for Stormy, a new relationship I built to replace another one or if I just came to care about her, maybe out of some twisted sense of responsibility over what I'm doing with her. Sometimes I even imagine if love her. But I always avoid the thought…too frightening I guess…

I open the door to see her lying in her mattress, curled up, peaceful like an innocent little girl. One might even think that's what she is. I try to keep myself from drinking in the sight of her lying there, half-naked like that, and walk in. Over time this action doesn't feel so wrong as it feels…familiar.

"What do you want, Carol?" She asks, like she doesn't know it's me.

"It's not Carol, p´tite"

She rolls over lazily, I can hear as she makes a little purr-like sound and stretches looking up at me. I can't help but feel endeared by those manners of her. Sometimes I actually believe she fakes those seraphic mannerisms just because she realized how much they entice me. Which is funny enough, that she truly thinks I delight in it because I believe her to be innocent, when in reality the true attraction lies in the fact that I know she really isn't.

I guess I became used to those little games of hers. So used I'm growing to like them. But I´ll be damned before giving her the benefit of knowing it.

"Hey…Where were you all this time?" She asks.

"Nowhere…nowhere special." I sit on the chair by the vanity table, looking at her through the broken mirror.

"I missed you" She tells me, mater-of-factly, with no lightness or girlishness. I can feel a certain weight and seriousness in her tone, and it gives me a certain sense of self-importance, like I'm somehow fundamental for her. I fight away the satisfaction it gives me like it's nothing important.

"I can see…" I answer laconically, leaning my head toward the window, gesturing the rain. She grins mischievously. In spite of myself I smirk…"You know…" I add, "You don't need rain to make me come back"

"I don't?" She asks, getting up and walking my way.

"No."

"Why? Because you'll always come back to me?" She asks at my ear as her arms wrap themselves around my shoulders.

"Is the thing about unrepentant sinners, chère…they always sin again…"

She just giggles, victorious.


	8. Chapter 8

Storm

As Spider asked just weeks ago, am I in the business of satisfying our leader?

In more ways than one.

As I lay next to him, bathed in moonlight and fixated on the stars framed by the fractured ceiling, I suppress swelling tears that shouldn't be. I am realizing, as my heart yearns for him and my mind berates me, who the puppet is… I have been used. A goddess fallen. What is more, I have allowed myself to be used, given myself willingly—and love it. I have surrendered my chance of being loved by Remy Lebeau, bludgeoned it bloody and discarded the mangled remains with my own selfish motives

In the process, I have destroyed a piece of him. But isn't that what I set out to do? How is it I find myself yearning for nothing more than his approval? I want him to want me… I need him to… as Ororo. I do not want to be his nighttime discretion, his clandestine sin. I want to be his Ororo… his Stormy.

I recall tonight, recapturing the knowing smile that forms on his face as I quake beneath him, a breathtaking wave rippling through me and my legs lock around him, clutching him tightly to me. I ignore the fact that he is whispering her name and instead drown myself in him, the smoothness of his skin against mine, the delicate kisses on my jaw line, the way he subtly steals traces of my scent from my hair, the memory of his hot breath on my neck, stubble scratching lightly as he whispers softly in my ear, French words I do not understand but ignite me nonetheless. But then, after the desire has subsided and he remembers who I am, reality sets in like the steel of a knife in my ribs. As I lie there, drenched in his sweat, the scent of our intimacy pervading my senses, the warmth of him still between my legs, my fears come alive when his body hardens against me… rejecting me once again.

The change is subtle; I do not know if he consciously does it, but I notice nonetheless.

I ignore this effort to dismiss me and instead, prop myself up on one arm to look at him and run my fingers through his auburn hair, an involuntary smile gracing my lips as I feel the tangibility, the actuality of him. He relaxes slightly yet still only dares nothing more than a glance of me as he clings to his ideals of his wife. I clench my fist around those chestnut brown locks as hard as I can muster, digging sharply into my palms, and viciously jerk his head sideways, forcing him to crash to reality, to know who is in his arms.

"Remy, Look at me." His scarlet eyes flit to the side and I hold his face between my hands, my own hovering inches from his causing my white hair to spill over my shoulder onto him. I manage to scream words unbroken by forming sobs, "Look at me!" Acknowledge me! Love_ me_!

This time, he complies, and again I am afforded a glimpse of the fire in those crimson eyes, the fire I have been chasing, but the flame is dying, suffocated by his self loathing for what he has committed tonight, and every night before it. Goddess, what have I done? What have I done?! No… it is him… it is not me! It is not my fault! I gave myself to him and he is the one who doesn't love me!

"You bastard!" I scream, caring not who might hear, as I pound my small fists against his bare chest. I try vainly to bruise him and make him _feel me_ somehow and he allows it, quietly taking his punishment for being a fiend. Only, he is not the monster to be blamed.

I want to love him, I want to hurt him; I want everything and nothing to do with him.

I do not want to lose him, I want to keep him like this forever, keep pretending I know what I am doing just so I can feel those hands on me every night the rest of my life, sleep against the warmth of him in the safety of his arms, taste those lips whenever I fancy and dig my ankles in the small of his back when he ravages me. I need it all and deserve nothing.

Exhausted, I collapse and sob against him. He holds me tight, rocking me in his arms, his silver tongue providing consoling words I do not hear because I cannot help knowing he was right. I am nothing more than a child. A foolish girl pretending she is his woman.

I am weak. I am selfish. I am a disgusting, foul, despicable creature and do not even deserve to share his bed, tainting his soul. "Forgive me." The words, foreign to my tongue, unexpectedly slip with the instinctive skill of a lifetime of practiced concession. They feel wonderful on my lips and I echo them several times until I am sure he will go mad.

Instead, his hands, large and rough, tenderly rest on either side of my face. One thumb gently caresses my cheek, wiping away tears, the other stroking my bottom lip as he studies my face. I blink, sending unshed tears cascading down to my chin.

I have asked him for what I need most and he forbids me. Remy is well aware my frailty and his touch is murderous. My body aches to melt into his while my mind emphasizes my wretchedness. Divine retribution I deserve and embrace as I tremble unfulfilled under his orchestration.

I am in Purgatory.

Gambit

I hold her to me and try to soothe her pain. But I know I can't. I know very well what I've done to her is beyond repair. What I've done to us is now irreparable. I tried to stop myself, every time, I tried to run from it, to save us both from the abyss we've dived in. I should be able to. She asks me to forgive her…But I'm the adult here; I'm the one that should be responsible.

Something inside of me is broken, and it can never be mended. I can try to fool myself as much as I want, but it is hopeless. I love her. I do love her. And yet... I am playing games with her, using her to relieve my pain, using her to replace someone else…but I love her, in a strange kind of way, in a way that makes me sick. I came to need her, not only for herself, but for all she represents, all she reminds me of, and eventually I came to love who she is beyond that. But the fact is, loving her never made me forget about Stormy, never closed the wound that aches inside my chest. Loving her has made me suffer more, loving her made me realize that my love for Stormy will always eat me up inside. Loving her made me feel ripped apart with guilt.

Is it possible to love two women at the same time? Is it possible to feel guilty about both?

Every time I come to Ororo, I think of Stormy. And every time I think of Stormy I miss Ororo. As the line between sanity and madness begins to fade from my mind, I superimpose the two, trying, in vain, to mold them in one. But it´s impossible

I love her. But I wouldn't love her if she weren't…my wife's copy. That doesn't rob my love of any honesty, I know, but is a betrayal of her anyway. She knows it. I wish she didn't realize, but she does, she knows that…no matter how much I love her, how honestly and truthfully I love her…she'll always be a replacement. I will always love her, not only for her, but also because she brought a part of Stormy back. Because I love her, I should be able to protect her. But how can I protect her from myself? How can I love her and destroy her with my love at the same time?

I come to the realization that I'll never be completely hers, no matter how much I want; no matter how much she suffers, no matter how much I suffer…It will never be.

This love…it was tainted from the beginning.

Now, as she breaks apart in front of my eyes, I despair, knowing I'll never be able to give her what she wants…what I want to give her. Ororo has finally discovered pain. I kind of pain she never imagined possible, but which I know too well. For I was the one to teach her, with depraved expertise. I can only hope she won´t follow me as I fall...

I should have known better…I should have known she couldn't take this, I should have known how to be stronger, how to keep my grief from erasing my sense. I should have kept my distance and allowed her to stay in that blissful state of complete innocence and unawareness she was used to live in, and from which she would, eventually, have grown out.

As I wipe away her tears and melt into her embrace, I see with clarity that no matter what I do, no matter what happens I will always have something broken inside of me, and not Ororo or anyone can mend it.…

I am in hell.


End file.
